Room with No View
by A. E. Stover
Summary: In a room with no view, two rivals reach an unspoken consensus that will deliver one another to their freedom. An introspective piece told in two parts. Deidara/Itachi.
1. WHITEOUT

_**Room with No View  
><strong>_written by **A. E. Stover  
><strong>this version was lasted edited **March 13****th****, 2013** by yours truly

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Originally written for the LiveJournal writing community, _Write Dattebayo!_, this first-person introspective piece told in two parts; may be confusing and odd due to the lack of clarity in explaining and to writing style. Though, it's not very difficult to grasp if you're familiar with the stream-of-consciousness style.

And as this piece is rated K+, I've tamed down Hidan's language immensely (you might not recognize him, in fact). But his appearance is short-lived, so you needn't worry about him too much.

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><p>—<strong>ROOM WITH NO VIEW—<br>**_whiteout_

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><p>.<p>

I blink my eyes and suddenly, he materializes a short distance ahead of me.

It doesn't really happen in an instant; it's more of a… a thing where the image of the person starts off as vague and transparent before becoming more and more solid and real. I don't like the guy, I really, really don't, but he's the only person that I've seen coming here that I can say I really _know_. The other guys who've come here…

Well, never mind about the other guys.

He stands there, looking around his new world in a daze before settling his eyes on mine. He stares at me blankly for a while before greeting me. "Hello," he says, like he's unsure. _'Fancy meeting you here,'_ I add for him. Only, he wouldn't say something like that. That's not proper for someone like him; it's juvenile.

My brow creases together and I feel the corners of my lips turn down. I'm glaring and I don't really know why. Am I angry? Not really. There's no point anymore; at least, there's no point in anger here, in this strange world we're in. And this isn't really the time for me to stay upset with him, because he might have seen my someone. I might even have seen _his_ someone. Who knows?_ Quid pro quo_, was it? Yeah, I think it was.

So the glare on my face lets up and I give this sigh, like I'm preparing myself to explain something profound in kid-terms, and start to walk forward. That's when he tries approaching me and stumbles a bit.

I should've warned him not to do that; your sense of balance tends to be… sort of non-existent the first time you're in a whiteout. It's hard to be aware of where you are relative to where everything else is, if there even is anything else out here. For example, I don't know if my next step forward will land on even ground or if it'll make me plummet through to another white void. I can't see anything but white in front of me. There are no shadows, no horizon line; nothing but an explosion of white.

I see that he's decided to stay put. Smart guy. He's always been a smart guy.

I'm standing in front of him in a few seconds, and the first words out of my mouth are: "How'd you die?" Eloquent, I know.

He narrows his eyes for a moment before looking around him again. "This is… hell?"

Oh, how cute. You think you're in hell? I scoff at him. "Is this what you imagined hell to be?"

He doesn't answer me and just gives me a blank look. Then, he says, "I shouldn't be here," with a little shake of his head, mouth twisting like he's in pain or something. Wow. So even the perfect Uchiha has regrets.

He stares at me, blankly at first, then gives a little amused huff, as if he's too tired to laugh. What the hell was he laughing for? Was he laughing at me? A familiar anger starts to burn inside of me.

"I'm far from perfect," he says, and then I realize — I've said that little"perfect" thing from before out loud, didn't I?

Far from perfect, he said. Huh. Never would've imagined him to say something like that in a thousand years, even in death. He's dead now, though, and probably why he's being so mellow. I think I like him mellow. Is this the beginning of a new friendship?

Nah.

I change the subject. "Have you seen Sasori no danna?"

He continues giving me this blank look. "I just got here."

Useless. Why are you all useless? Did I say that out loud? I don't know. I really don't care. I try asking again, differently. "Well, on your way here, then? Did you see him?"

He furrows his brow. "I… don't know. I can't remember."

Useless, useless, useless. Every single one of them, all of them. Is this white a part of their path to the conclusion of their useless existence? What a waste of life... afterlife. This _is_ the afterlife, isn't it? I turn around and am about to leave but then he suddenly grabs hold of my arm and asks, almost in a fit of desperation;

"Have… Have you seen Sasuke… here?"

I turn my head and look at him; for real, this time. I remember his face being like a stone; a cold, hardened surface. There were times when it was like a placid lake; clear and still, but with an unknown depth — a dark abyss.

And now...?

His face was open. Exhaustion. Pain. Hope. I can see everything he's thinking, what he's not thinking — what he wants to be thinking. It's all right there on his face, in his eyes. I can see everything. He's not the same person I knew and disliked. I'm not even sure if it's the same person.

I turn around fully to answer him; he deserves that much at least. How did he die again? I feel his hand around my arm squeezing, urgently.

"Have you seen Sasuke?" he asks again.

I give him a long, hard stare. "No," I say, and I feel his hand loosen from my arm. "I haven't." His hand drops to his side. Then he smiles at me. I didn't expect that. I've never seen him smile before, and it was... surprising. But nice. I don't let him know that. I just watch as he starts to grow transparent.

"Thank you," he says to me, just before he disappears from sight.

In a moment, there's no trace of him. He's gone. I wave my hand in the space he was in just a few seconds ago, and there's nothing there.

I sigh loudly and plop down in the void, collecting my face in my hands and shaking my head. "Great. I got here first, but he gets to leave before I do. How's even that fair?"

"Nothing's ever fair."

I snap my head up and look behind me.

The man behind me stands there as if he's looking right at me.

I feel myself staring back at him.

"This sucks. I hate this stupid crap. God…"

I know who it is, but seeing him looking like that has always been weird to me. Even more so because of where this is supposed to be. "…Hidan?"

"Yeah? What. You got somethin' to say? Just say it already, I've heard it all anyway. Come on, what're you waitin' for?"

Again, my mouth opens to let eloquent words come out. "Where's your head?"

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	2. BLACKOUT

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><p><strong>BLACKOUT<strong>

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I see so much, but all of it is darkness. It's a continuous world of murky black. I can hardly see my own hand before my face.

There's a speck of light, but it disappears as soon I look directly at it. Am I imagining things? I can't tell.

I feel nothing, but I'm not numb. If I clench my hand, I can feel the muscles tighten in my arm, in my hand. But I don't feel it because I'm feeling it. I feel it because I remember how it's supposed to feel. _What_ I'm supposed to feel. I can squeeze my hands around my neck and eventually feel my lungs convulsing for air, but I don't need to breathe so I don't actually feel any of it.

I taste nothing. I smell nothing. There is no taste of copper in my mouth, no smell of blood that stains my hands and clothes. I can see it, though, because it's still all there. Look! Here, on my right arm! And here, on my chest! And it's everywhere, everywhere I look! Can you see it too? _Can_ you?

Do you even exist?

The ink that swirls around is there to swallow me, to consume me, but it cannot for it does not take any form. It is useless, like the senses that I have ― that I once _had_. Useless.

I hear voices, and I've heard them all before. I can hear Shisui, my mother and father, and… There are so many, and they haven't gone away. I didn't expect them to go away. They're not as loud as before. I didn't expect them to be muffled; to sound less like horrified gurgles and more like soothing voices. That's not what I expected at all.

There's someone else that I hear. It's louder than the other voices.

"—_acting like he's better than all the others… What a pompous ass. Good thing I don't have__ to see him anymore_—_"_

Who is it?

"—_What, you going already? You just got here! Hey, wait, come back! Kakuzu! Wait for your idiot partner here! Come on!"_

…Ah. It's him.

"_Don't leave me alo— You're leaving me alone. Fine, then! Go away! I don't need you!"_

I can't see him, but unfortunately I can hear him very well. It's almost as if he's standing beside me.

"_You're worse than that Uchiha bastard! I wish he were here instead of you, you selfish, uncaring, jackass!"_

White. It's hurtling towards me, and pierces my eyes, my soul. The voices grow louder and louder and they clash and thunder in my ears. Where did they come from?

_They were always there._

But they were growing silent, growing still!

_You're a fool._

They start shouting again.

"_**Itachi, what are you—!"**_

It's Shisui, and I see the whites of his eyes. Then I realize it's his face, his corpse face. His eyes, red from the strangulation, stare up at me. And he smiles.

"_**Don't do this, Itachi. Think about what you're do—!"**_

It's my proud father. Even in death, he is proud; his voice rings the loudest, thundering in my ears like a stampede. He's looking at me with an empty expression, and the slightest twist of his mouth that turns it into a disappointed frown. And yet, he is at peace.

"_**I'm so sorry I never understood you, Itachi…"**_

It's my mother, whom I did not kill. I did not — _could not_ — touch her. She looks on at me with a sullen smile, and says only the same things without rest: _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

"_**Niisan… Why?"**_

Sasuke.

I shut my eyes and watch everything unfold again. Their voices collect with those of whom I've watched die before me, of those I've watched being slayed open. They echo and whirl together, like an angry storm. It is a storm that I've kept inside for years. You can't keep a storm inside for such a long time. It finds a way out. It takes you with it, if it has to, but it finds a way out.

There is a white explosion. The white speck enlarges and eats away at the murky ink, becoming a tarp that stretches over my eyes. There is no more ink, there is no darkness. I see nothing, nothing but white.

I'm blind. A white blindness, a white world. A _silent_, white world. Am I deaf now, too? I wonder. I can't hear anything. I can't hear anyone. They're gone. They're dead.

_I'm_ dead.

I blink my eyes and suddenly, I see him. He's looking at me, I think, and he starts to walk toward me, slowly. I look around, and I'm blind. I look at him, and I can see.

I greet him, and I can hear my voice. I can hear myself speaking, "Hello." Hello, hello, what are you doing here? Can you hear me? _I_ can hear me. Can you?

I take a step forward, but I can't tell where my foot will land until it does. I can feel my legs and my body, moving unsurely in this endless white, in this endless world. I can feel.

I look up, and there he is. He's in front of me, his face serious and bored. There's an acrid smell, and I realize it's from him. Firecrackers? Bombs, I realize. His bombs. Is that how he died? That doesn't matter. I can smell. And the sour taste in my mouth, that taste of dried blood; I can taste.

"How'd you die?" he asks.

I stare at him. I can see. I can hear. I can feel. I can smell. I can taste. Am I dead? Is this hell? This is hell? I ask him, and he only gives me a funny look. No, of course he doesn't understand. His life was always fleeting; he craved that evanescent life. He wouldn't understand.

How did I die? I didn't die. I didn't, not really.

I'm still alive.

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTES<strong>

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><p>.<p>

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The title, "Room with No View," holds two distinct meanings. Taken literally, it refers to the two worlds of white and black that the characters are contained in. The "whiteout" and "blackout" voids literally have no views that take away from the rooms' respective colors. Figuratively, it is to show how the rooms themselves are representations of the ends of their lives. There is nothing more to look forward to ("no view") anymore.

Deidara is looking for Sasori in his assumption that he needs to meet with the most influential person of his life so far in order to move on in the afterlife and reach his peace. It is unknown whether or not Sasori is, indeed, his person, or even if his belief in the method of finding someone in order to move on holds true. He may in fact be stuck in the whiteout for the rest of his afterlife. The details are undecided.

This piece was originally written for the LJ community, "Write Dattebayo," to fulfill a weekly writing exercise ("two characters in a room"). The directions were to take two characters who did not get along or who were unfamiliar with one another, and write as each character as they see each other walk into a the same room.

I chose to take a different approach to the assignment, as is evident by the sheer difference between the two pieces. Each has its own separate purpose, where the exercise serves only as a means in which the pieces progress. This is why Itachi's chapter does not contain the verbal exchange that is present in Deidara's piece. While Deidara's chapter is largely about his belief of the afterlife, Itachi's chapter is focused on his regrets and emotional dysfunction.


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